


Overlap

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Breathplay, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No," Spencer says, his voice strangely breathless. "No, Brendon, come on. Pull it <i>tighter</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overlap

"No," Spencer says, his voice strangely breathless. "No, Brendon, come on. Pull it _tighter_."

"I"m trying," Brendon mutters. Spencer feels careful fingers tucking themselves under the lacings, and then all of a sudden Brendon _pulls_. Spencer sucks in a breath; he can feel all the bones in his back shifting into place, forcing his spine into alignment. Brendon traces one hand down the side of the corset, keeping the laces pulled tightly in his other hand.

"That okay?" Brendon says softly. He sounds just as breathless as Spencer feels. He's almost afraid to look in the mirror; his bangs are hanging down in his eyes, and he can't seem to look up at his reflection. He can see it in his head, though; pink cheeks, broad shoulders, the smooth satin of the corset. One of Brendon's hands is on his waist, his fingers tan against the cream-colored fabric. His fingers are shaking, just a little.

"Spencer," Brendon breathes out, nosing at the back of his neck. Spencer tips his head forward, swallowing back a tiny noise.

(He still can't believe they're doing this, even after all the conversations, all the blushing and stammering they'd had to push through before Spencer had admitted what he'd _really_ wanted. Brendon had looked at him with wide eyes, and swallowed firmly. Then he'd said, _I think you'd look good like that_.

_Stop fucking with me_, Spencer had answered, something to that effect. There was no way Brendon really---there was just no way. Spencer was never that lucky.

_No, I_, Brendon had said, and looked away. When he'd looked back, his cheeks were bright red, his breath coming in short pants. _I'm serious_.

And then later, when they were tired and sore and sticky, he had said hesitantly, _Would you let me fuck you like that?_

_Yes_, Spencer had whispered, tucking his face into Brendon's shoulder. _Please_.)

Spencer can feel the transferred movement of Brendon's hands as he ties the laces, knotting them several times so they won't come undone. Spencer knows this is real, knows it because he's standing in Brendon's dirty bathroom and through the mirror he can see the large scratch mark on the wall from a previous tenent. He still feels lightheaded.

Brendon wraps both of his hands around the span of Spencer's waist, so much smaller now, streamlined. His breath is hot on the back of Spencer's neck as he mutters, "We should probably go in the bedroom before I just shoot all over you," and Spencer snorts.

The movement causes his ribcage to expand--or to attempt to expand, meeting the sudden resistance of boning and fabric--and it's suddenly not quite a joke anymore. Spencer breathes shallowly and thinks about how it would feel, Brendon pressing him down on the sink, a hot rush of liquid over the exposed skin between the lacings. Behind him, Brendon's nipping his teeth over Spencer's shoulder, pressing his hips into Spencer's back like he can't quite contain himself.

"Bed," Spencer says, all in a rush. "Bed. Yes. I think. Now."

"Yeah," Brendon says. Spencer pushes himself away from the sink and walks unsteadily; movement feels different. His center of gravity is higher. His hips swivel more.

Brendon watches him go, and Spencer can feel the heat building on his cheeks. Part of him wishes he were wearing underwear, stockings, anything to hide behind; part of him wants the attention, wants Brendon to see exactly what Spencer looks like in nothing but this.

"Jesus _fuck_," Brendon says, and then he's stumbling over to the bed behind Spencer, pulling him down with two hands wrapped around Spencer's hips. Spencer's taller, probably stronger, but he likes it when Brendon pushes him around a little. Brendon tends to get a little forceful, sometimes even a little rough, when he's got a goal in mind. Spencer likes being that goal.

Brendon digs his fingers in and then soothes them over the bruise, biting at the curve of Spencer's neck. Spencer just arches out, pushes himself into the sensation of Brendon on top of him. Brendon drags his tongue over the abused skin and then pulls away slightly, hovering just over Spencer. Spencer licks his lips, looking up at Brendon through his eyelashes. He's being coy, and Brendon must know it, but it still works.

_God, you're so fucking pretty_, Brendon whispers. The words sound filthy in his mouth, spoken in that low growl that Brendon sometimes falls into without meaning to. Spencer shivers, closing his eyes. It's an instinctive reaction. He feels Brendon's fingers tighten around the span of his waist.

Brendon takes his time getting Spencer ready. He's not gentle with him, but he's not hurried, either. He sucks a bruise into the top of Spencer's thigh, moving his fingers slowly inside him.

Spencer knows he's being loud; he can't help it. His skin feels like it's crackling, like every nerve is standing on edge, and Brendon just keeps pushing him forward, slow and steady.

The corset restricts his movements. He can't draw a full breath. The satin is slick against his skin, and Brendon never lets go. Sometimes he's tucking his fingers into the laces; sometimes he's scratching his nails over the fabric, or leaning up to sink his teeth into the hard ridge of it against Spencer's hip. He pushes his tongue underneath the fabric, and Spencer jerks, pressing back onto three of Brendon's fingers with a startled groan.

When Brendon hikes Spencer's legs up around his waist and actually pushes into him, Spencer has a moment where he really, honestly can't breathe. The new angle restricts the boning; it presses down at the base of his ribcage and Spencer throws his head back and gasps for air. Brendon snaps his head up, eyes wide, and then shoves his hand under the place where the boning has shifted, giving Spencer room to breath.

They wait, panting, until Spencer nods.

Brendon leans back, taking more of Spencer's weight on his knees, so that Spencer's torso can stay straight while they fuck. It's an new angle, a deeper one, and Spencer hears himself let out a broken moan as if from far away. The burn is thick and good, and Spencer pushes back weakly into Brendon's thrusts.

It feels like he's flying; his vision sparkles slightly around the edges.

_You're beautiful_, Brendon whispers, just before he comes. _So, so beautiful._


End file.
